


chef-d'oeuvre

by vonseal



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, also very bad socky im sorry, jinjin is the only person who doesnt make an appearance rip, literally just cute stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonseal/pseuds/vonseal
Summary: sanha likes good food. minhyuk makes good food. it's a perfect match.





	chef-d'oeuvre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [softsocky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsocky/gifts).



> SO the sweetest [@softsocky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RaphaelSantiago/pseuds/RaphaelSantiago) is all about rocky cooking for sanha and as i sat out in the rain today, i thought, "what if rocky was a chef?"
> 
> and so i made this disgusting piece of work
> 
> im sorry

Sanha was fond of good food.

Sanha was even _more_ fond of other people paying for him to consume good food.

That's what he told his best friend, Dongmin, anyway, as he shoveled some pork into his mouth.

Dongmin sighed, surveying all of the food that Sanha had ordered, probably calculating just how much, exactly, it would all cost. He didn't look too pleased, but Sanha could care less; the food was _delicious_ , and if Dongmin was a little pissy that Sanha won a bet and was able to buy whatever dinner he wanted, then perhaps he never should have made such a stupid bet in the first place.

“Did you know,” Sanha said, finally swallowing the food he had been chewing on, “that this is probably the best pork I've ever eaten in my life? And!” He giggled and grabbed his rice wine, shooting a wink over towards Dongmin, “It's the most _expensive_ , too!”

“I hope I'll be able to afford rent,” Dongmin responded, scathingly. “I hope I can still buy groceries for the week. I hope that-”

Sanha groaned loudly and set his drink down, waving his hand and brushing off all of Dongmin's concerns. “You'll be able to!” he scolded, “because you're Lee Dongmin and you _always_ have something on hand. You're usually super smart with this sort of thing – money-saving, I mean. Though, it was so dumb of you to make this bet with me in the first place!”

“You have no muscles on you! By all accounts, you should _not_ have been able to do one-hundred sit-ups. I've never seen you exercise before.”

“The promise of free food can make the body run solely on adrenaline,” Sanha replied with a large grin. “Hey, can I order an extra side dish? Oh, that's silly, I _can_ , because you said I could buy _whatever I wanted_ as long as I made sure to do one-hundred sit-ups.” Sanha waved his chopsticks around and clicked his tongue up against the roof of his mouth. “Tsk, _tsk_ , Dongmin. Don't underestimate the power of Yoon Sanha ever again!”

He waited until their waiter walked by, grabbing him hurriedly by the sleeve and gesturing over to the menu. The waiter was polite, kind, a little smiley, and Sanha decided he was probably far better company than grumpy Dongmin was.

“You should switch places with my friend!” Sanha exclaimed, fueled by alcohol and exaltation. He noticed the waiter shoot Dongmin a confused glance; Dongmin rolled his eyes, but Sanha wasn't deterred by such behavior. “He's boring, and he's also been complaining through this entire dinner. Tell him not to complain!”

The waiter shifted nervously, and yet the smile never once left his face. “I'd prefer it if he didn't complain,” the waiter spoke honestly. “I'd hope he'd enjoy the food and service so much that he didn't have any time to complain!”

Dongmin blushed, but Sanha didn't care. He wagged his finger at Dongmin and exclaimed, “Yeah, so don't complain anymore, not when our waiter is so polite and friendly and the food is delicious!”

The waiter beamed at the compliment and bowed his head. “I'll be sure to tell the cooks that you are enjoying the meal,” he said.

He almost left, but Sanha just then remembered that he was actually going to order another side dish, and he grabbed the waiter's sleeve again, just in time.

Their food order was relayed back to the kitchen. Sanha took his time in finishing up their main meal, savoring every single bite of pork, also savoring the look of annoyance found on Dongmin's face. Sanha was something of a sore loser, so while he was well aware that _he_ would be acting up even more than _Dongmin_ was should he have lost a bet, he was also a prideful winner.

(Dongmin claimed he never knew which Sanha was more irritating to deal with.)

It didn't take too long to prepare the side dish. Sanha heard the little kitchen bell ring, and he glanced over in anticipation, ensuring that his waiter would be bringing it _straight_ from the line over to their table. He didn't want anything lukewarm, nor did he want another waiter to mistake it for something else.

Maybe that happened sometimes; Sanha honestly had no idea how the restaurant industry worked.

His waiter regarded the dish closely for a second before tapping on the counter, speaking to someone just out of view. Maybe something was wrong? Maybe the cook messed up? Sanha wasn't sure, and he craned his neck to see what was going on with his food.

He saw the cook – or whom he _assumed_ to be the cook. He was in the typical white chef outfit, though he went without one of the fancy, stereotypical chef hats. It was almost disappointing to see a chef not wearing such an iconic piece of clothing, but then his eyes traveled to the chef's face.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

“What?” Dongmin's question sounded as if it came from miles away, and so Sanha ignored it. He was far more focused on the man in the kitchen, the man with such beautifully golden, tanned skin and high cheekbones and piercing eyes. The man who was visible for maybe a second, ordering instructions to their waiter, and then disappeared once more into the kitchen void, the mysterious place that apparently housed such an ethereal figure.

Sanha leaned back in his chair, dumbfounded. That couldn't be a _chef_. There was no way someone so handsome would work in the back of a restaurant, where his looks went unnoticed. Perhaps it was a model partaking in some sort of charity activity. Models did that, didn't they? They would work as cooks for a day at a homeless shelter or some sort of food pantry.

Though, looking at the prices again, the restaurant probably wasn't the best place for _charity_.

Maybe he was an intern, just looking for extra credit opportunities for school while prepping for his career as an actor, or a singer, or someone who would be up on big screen televisions, someone who everyone would know.

Maybe he was a foreign star filming some stupid cooking show. Sanha had seen one or two of those before. It was plausible. He could be Chinese or Japanese – maybe he didn't even _speak_ Korean.

Sanha wanted to ask, and so when the waiter set their food down and apologized for the small wait, Sanha quickly inquired, “Do you speak any language other than Korean?”

The waiter blinked, then giggled lightly. “Um, no. I've tried learning, but I'm awful at it. Why?”

Sanha pointed, gesturing wildly to the kitchen. “You have a foreigner in there!”

“What?”

“I saw you talking to someone! I don't think he's from around here. This is too _normal_ of an area for someone like him!”

The waiter glanced back to where Sanha gestured, then seemed to come to some sort of realization. “Oh, no, that's our chef! He's the one who cooked all of your food. He _does_ have rather interesting features, doesn't he?”

 _Interesting_ was one word to describe it. Sanha was thinking more along the lines of _sexy_ , but he could go with _interesting_.

“Can he come out?” Sanha asked, like a child asking if their friend could come and play. “So I can give my compliments to the chef?”

“Oh, I've already given them to him,” the waiter responded.

Sanha pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I want to see him,” he complained. He noticed Dongmin staring at him, an eyebrow raised, and he clarified, “I think giving my gratitude towards someone who deserves it is very respectful. I don't want to leave without actually telling him, _in person_ , what a great experience I've had.”

The waiter grinned again, as bright as the sun, and exclaimed, “When you get your receipt for payment, there's an email address where you can leave comments! So you can compliment the food, the décor, the, um, the _wait staff_ , if you want-”

“But I want to see the cook!” Sanha countered. “Is there any way-”

“Sanha.” Dongmin cut him off, shushing him lightly and moving his rice wine further from his reach. He glanced up at the waiter once, then shifted his gaze and cleared his throat. “S-Sorry about him,” he apologized. “He's a little tipsy.”

“I am _not_ ,” Sanha snapped, but his words went unnoticed.

“We'll definitely leave you a good review!” Dongmin continued, though he fumbled with his words and played with his fingers, eyes still averted from the waiter's stare. “And-and one for the chef, I assume, since that's important to Sanha.”

“We'll look forward to it, then!” the waiter responded, his words now just as cheery as his smile was. “I'll tell the chef again for you, Sir, that you enjoy his cooking!”

Before he could leave, Sanha stopped him again, much to the chagrin of Dongmin, who seemed rather embarrassed for some reason.

“So there's no way at all for me to see him?” Sanha asked, just making _sure_. “Like, I can't go back there and say hello?”

The waiter gave him an apologetic grin. “Sorry. We only allow employees back there.”

While the outcome certainly wasn't satisfactory, Sanha finally did drop the subject, realizing that he could never get in as a regular customer.

But as an employee...?

“Dongmin,” he said, cutting into his egg. “Dongmin, once we get home, I need your help filling out a job application.”

“You have a job,” Dongmin responded, staring off to wherever the waiter had disappeared to.

“Yeah, but I don't have an actual _god_ working at my job. I'm going to quit, and I'm going to work here.”

Dongmin looked over at him and wrinkled his nose. “No you aren't.”

“Wanna bet on that?”

The scowl was worth it, and Sanha smiled to himself as he began checking his phone for job openings in the area.

 

***************************

 

As it turned out, the restaurant _did_ have one position available. It wasn't Sanha's first choice, for sure. In fact, he would earn less money working there than he would his other job.

“Remind me next time,” he mumbled to Dongmin as he dressed nicely in a white shirt and dress pants, “not to make any rash decisions after I have a little too much to drink.”

Dongmin straightened out Sanha's bow tie, ensuring that the outfit followed the employee manual. He read a little bit to himself, mouthing the words, and when he seemed satisfied, he gave Sanha's shoulders a small pat. “You're twenty-two, Sanha. Old enough to make your own decisions.”

“I _suck_ at making decisions. I didn't learn anything from college about making my own decisions.”

“Then maybe, next time, don't take music theory. Take something useful, like-”

“Just because you're a lawyer doesn't mean I should lower myself to such a boring job!” Sanha complained.

“Better a lawyer than a dishwasher.”

Sanha usually liked Dongmin's laugh, but hearing it now was _grating_. He huffed and flounced off, showcasing all the drama and spunk that Dongmin knew he contained in his tall, skinny body.

The restaurant was quiet as he entered, and he found it a little odd at first. “Hello?” he called out.

The waiter from the previous night popped up from behind the host stand, looking confused for a split second before his face broke out in a large grin, reminiscent of the first night they had met. “Oh! It's you again! Hello!” He straightened up and cleared his throat. “I was just cleaning a bit – you got a job here, didn't you? They told me to be on the lookout for their new hire. Yoon...Sanha, right?”

Sanha nodded his head, relieved he already had such a warm welcome.

The waiter moved, gesturing for Sanha to follow, and they walked to the back of the building. “So you're getting trained by one of the cooks in the kitchen – it's not the one you were asking about a few weeks ago. He's running an errand before dinner service starts.” They went into the back kitchen, where a few of the cooks were already prepping food.

Sanha felt disappointed that he couldn't see the beautiful chef at the moment, so he asked, “Is that chef coming back?”

“Oh, yeah. He's the head chef, so he definitely won't miss a dinner service! I don't think he ever calls out, either, unless he's really sick or something.” The waiter directed Sanha to the dishwasher and sink, then glanced around until he managed to grab one of the cooks from their jobs. “Here! Binnie, this is Sanha, our new dishwasher. Sanha, this is Moon Bin! The dishwasher is pretty self-explanatory, but he's going to go over a few quick rules!”

Bin, Sanha realized, looked a little like a cat, or maybe some sort of cute, inquisitive puppy. He really couldn't tell, especially when Bin cocked his head and murmured, “Why do _I_ have to?”

“Because I said so!” the waiter exclaimed.

“Why should I listen to _you_ , Myungjun? You're not even a head _waiter_ , let alone part of the kitchen crew. You're on the bottom of the totem pole.” Bin scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “No. Why don't _you_ help him? You know how to run it just fine!”

The waiter – Myungjun, Sanha was assuming – didn't seem too put-off by his coworker's attitude. He just grinned again and responded, “Because, Bin, I have _tons_ of blackmail material on your scrawny ass, and I'm very sociable and like to let secrets slip every so often.”

If looks could kill, Sanha was _sure_ that Myungjun would be deceased. As it was, though, Bin just cursed angrily and pushed Myungjun out of the way. The small waiter gave Sanha a thumbs-up before scurrying out of the kitchen, presumably to finish whatever cleaning he had been working on.

Myungjun was correct, though; the dishwasher position really was self-explanatory. He had to rinse and stick away all of the tableware in their dishwasher. He had to clean tables at the end of the day and help scrub down the floors.

“Basically,” he said, admiring how nice and neat the cleaning closet was, “I'm a housekeeper for a restaurant.”

“Pretty much,” Bin agreed, and he closed the door. “For now, though, do you mind helping the cooks? You'll just have to fetch stuff from the kitchen. Again, it'll all be self-explanatory. Minhyuk makes sure everything is labeled.”

Sanha blinked, following Bin back to his station. “Minhyuk?”

“Oh, yeah, he's the head chef! I think he developed the recipes for, like, half the things on our menu. We've been friends for a while – you might have to call him Chef, though, just because you're new, and because he doesn't open up to people very often.” Bin gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Don't be shocked if he ignores you. It's nothing too personal. He's just like that.”

By pure common sense, Sanha came to the conclusion that his god chef, the one he came to work for in the first place, was _Minhyuk_. It was nice now to put a name to the face he had seen oh so briefly mere weeks ago, and his heart fluttered in his chest as he nodded along to Bin's next instructions, listening and heeding the words while his mind was in another place.

(It was in a place where Minhyuk saw him and instantly fell in love with him. It was such a wonderful place.)

“When is, um...Chef coming back?” he questioned.

Bin giggled suddenly and he gave Sanha's back a short, quick slap. “You don't have to call him _Chef_ to me. Just to him. You can call him Minhyuk when he's not around. Why, though? Have you two met?”

“Briefly,” Sanha responded, then clarified, “I saw him when I came a few weeks ago. Like, for a brief moment, I saw him. So it wasn't really a _meeting_ , because I don't think he saw me, but I saw _him_.” Realizing he was rambling (and realizing that he was probably making a fool of himself), Sanha cleared his throat and pointed awkwardly over to the other cooks. “Should I ask them if they need help?”

Bin agreed, and, needless to say, all of the cooks seemed to quite enjoy having a new dishwasher in the kitchen. According to one of them, no one really wanted to work as a dishwasher. They had a few employees come and go, but most of them seemed put-off by Minhyuk's cold shoulder.

“Also,” Bin whispered to Sanha, “everyone else here is all haughty and vain.” He threw a glance over his shoulder at his coworkers, who were working in relative silence, and added, “except for me. I'm probably the best person here.”

At the very least, Sanha decided that Bin was certainly as haughty and vain as all the others apparently were. He could handle that flaw, though, far too accustomed to going through college with Dongmin constantly fixing his hair and lamenting over oily skin.

He didn't think anyone had a right to feel vain in front of Minhyuk, though. He hadn't thought so from the quick glimpse he was given just weeks ago, and he _definitely_ didn't think so upon seeing Minhyuk finally show up, carrying a few grocery bags and looking generally indifferent to the kitchen business. He set the bags down and peered around the room for a bit before his eyes landed on Sanha.

He was far better looking up close than he was from far away.

He was smaller than Sanha imagined he would be, with a lithe body, yet when he shrugged off his jacket and rolled down his long, white sleeves, Sanha caught a good look at arm muscles. He certainly worked out, no doubt about that, though Sanha thought he would be a god either way.

When he spoke, his voice was just as Sanha remembered; a little deep and yet still a little light; not as rich as Dongmin's voice, but not as delicate as Myungjun's. It was intriguing, mysterious, and Sanha longed to hear Minhyuk talk for many hours.

“Are you the new dishwasher?” Minhyuk asked.

Sanha had to take a second to compose himself, caught off guard from suddenly being addressed by a man he had instantly developed a crush on. It was nerve-wracking; he had dated before, but never someone as handsome and as talented and as _wonderful_ as Minhyuk was.

“Ah,” he responded, and then shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Y-Yeah! That's me! I'm Yoon Sanha!” He bowed deeply, trying to pay the utmost respect to Minhyuk, but when he looked up, Minhyuk was simply unloading his grocery bag.

“Could you put these in the fridge for me? There's a label maker back there, as well, so just label them properly with what they are and then the date. Did Myungjun teach you how to do everything?”

Sanha shook his head once more, this time as a reply. “No. Bin did. Or, um, would it be _Chef_ Bin?”

Minhyuk shrugged, still rather indifferent. Sanha found him fascinating. “You can just call him Bin. I'm sure he won't mind.”

“Alright, Chef!”

Minhyuk glanced over at him. Sanha was awful at reading facial expressions, but he could have _sworn_ Minhyuk looked rather amused. “Here,” the chef said, gesturing to his supplies he picked up from the store. “Once you're done back there, get on duty, because dinner service starts in about ten minutes.”

Sanha responded with another confirmation, but before Minhyuk turned away, he asked, “Out of curiosity, why aren't you wearing the hat?”

“Excuse me?” Minhyuk blinked, and Sanha noticed one or two other cooks look over at the two of them. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“The, um, the hat. It's...the chef hat! Tall, white, looks a bit like a cloud at the top.”

Minhyuk stared at him for a second longer before giving a small, “ohh.” He patted the top of his head, finding nothing there, and said, “A _toque blanche_.”

Sanha found the unfamiliar words pretty, though odd, and he raised his eyebrows. “A what?”

“It's French,” Minhyuk replied, “for white hat. It's the one you're thinking of. A _toque blanche._ ” He let his hands drop from his hair. “It looks stupid. That's why I'm not wearing one.”

(Sanha noticed one of the chefs, from the corner of his eye, slowly remove his own cap.)

“I think you'd look cool with one!” Sanha exclaimed cheerfully, grabbing the supplies from the counter. “But you look cool either way, Min- uh, _Chef!_ The coolest, um...the coolest chef, even with no hat-” He stammered, and once again, realized he was making a fool of himself, so he stumbled backwards and gave a nervous chuckle. “I'll just go put these away, then! I'll, um, I'll be back, Chef!”

He felt Minhyuk's stare on him as he scurried off, but it wasn't at all like Bin mentioned it would be. It didn't feel like Minhyuk was giving him the cold shoulder, nor did it feel like Minhyuk was frustrated with him.

It felt warm and comforting, and Sanha smiled giddily to himself as he stocked the fridge with the food items.

He already liked his job.

 

***************************

 

It was a good job because he got to keep staring at Minhyuk.

He liked the way Minhyuk worked. He called out orders accurately and quickly, leaving no room for mistakes. He cooked with such finesse and passion that Sanha couldn't help but stare at him dreamily. He was quiet and calm and collected, even when faced with massive issues, such as when someone burned a few of the steaks or when one of the waiters grabbed the wrong dish for the wrong table. Sanha admired his work ethic and determination.

Equally so, Sanha admired how attractive Minhyuk was. Even in a hot, steamy kitchen, where everyone was sweating and looking like a general mess, Minhyuk still managed to look perfect. He would wipe his forehead with a handkerchief from time to time, eyes narrowed in concentration as he displayed the food properly out on his dishes and sent them off. He hardly took a second of a break, and yet he looked far more put together than all of the rest of the staff looked.

Sometimes, he would glance over, and Sanha, realizing he had been staring, would go back to spraying down dirty dishes, his cheeks flushed and his lips tight, pretending as if ogling at the head chef _wasn't_ a past-time of his.

Other than that, the job was tough.

Sanha didn't know how a job that required no skill could wear him down so much. He would work lunch shifts, stay behind to clean up, and then head straight into the even busier dinner shift. Some nights, he wouldn't get home until after midnight, utterly spent and exhausted, and he'd have to get out of bed early the next morning to ready himself for work again. It was a constant cycle, only made bearable by Minhyuk's presence.

After work was over and the employees would groan and stretch and grab their belongings, Minhyuk would congratulate a few of them on a job well-done, quietly but surely, and he might pat Bin's back if he was feeling particularly cheerful on certain nights.

He never said anything to Sanha. He would glance over from time to time still, but that was the extent of their communication.

Still, Sanha didn't mind. He got to work alongside Minhyuk, in any case, which had been his goal all along.

It was raining one night when they closed, big fat droplets of water cascading down from the night sky, splashing alongside the road, causing large puddles to form. Once upon a time, Sanha might have stepped in a puddle just for fun, stomping along and letting the water soak through the hem of his pants, but now he was far older, far more mature, and a _little_ less likely to step out into the puddles.

Or, at least, he should have been. But the puddles were inviting, nostalgic, and so he did so, anyway, shivering at the sudden intrusion of cold water that drenched his leg upon contact.

He was still outside of the restaurant, walking slowly home, his rain jacket on tightly and his umbrella held high over his head. He didn't live _too_ far away, and the next day was Monday, the only day the restaurant was closed, so he didn't concern himself with hurrying along. He dragged his feet, splashing in every puddle he could find and giggling all the while.

If he still lived with his mother, he could imagine her nagging him about wet pants.

If he still lived with _Dongmin_ , he would _definitely_ be nagged about wet pants.

But Sanha lived alone now. He was an adult, and he was allowed to jump in puddles if he wished, to play with the rain, to lean his head back, away from his umbrella, and let the water slide down his face, cold to the touch but still so sweet and familiar.

He lifted his head, blinking away some of the droplets, and his eyes caught sight of a person standing just nearby.

Sanha screamed – high-pitched, girly, loud – and stumbled backwards, heart racing in his chest as he contemplated stabbing the figure with his umbrella. After all, who else other than some sort of creep would _follow_ him in the middle of the night and watch him dance in the rain?

“Sanha?”

It was a voice Sanha liked; intriguing and mysterious. He recognized it instantly and he straightened himself from his cowering postion.

“I-Is that you, Chef?”

The figure walked closer, moving to stand under the dim glow of the streetlamp, and Sanha sighed with relief upon the realization that it _was_ just Minhyuk.

Maybe only creeps _and_ Minhyuk followed young dishwashers from their jobs and watched them dance in the rain.

“Why are you...” Minhyuk blinked, then gestured at the puddles and Sanha's soaked pants, “...doing this?” he finished, utterly bewildered as to Sanha's state of mind.

Sanha was embarrassed to be caught acting like a child. He shifted his umbrella to a different hand and wiped away his wet bangs. “Um, well, ha-haven't you ever wanted to just play in the rain?”

Minhyuk still seemed confused. He shook his head and gave a small, “No.”

“Oh.”

The conversation ended. Sanha wanted to run home and crawl underneath his blankets and pretend none of this had ever happened. The one time he decided to make a fool of himself happened to be the one time Minhyuk saw him.

(Dongmin's voice in his head laughed and proclaimed, “You _always_ make a fool of yourself, Sanha!” Even Imagined Dongmin was rotten. Sanha would have to fight him over the imagined words.)

Minhyuk still stared, and Sanha bit at the inside of his cheek for a second before he asked, “S-So you closed up the restaurant?”

“Yeah.”

Minhyuk wasn't much of a conversationalist.

Sanha kicked at the ground, at some stray pebble visible only in the small, flickering light hanging from up above. “So-”

“In case you were wondering, I wasn't following you,” Minhyuk suddenly blurted out. When Sanha looked at him, he appeared rather humiliated; or maybe the light was making weird shadows and playing tricks on him. “I...I live down this way, too.”

“Really?” Sanha smiled brightly. “We can walk together, then!”

It might not have been a good idea to walk with the man he liked, especially when he had embarrassed himself in front of said man, but Sanha had already given the offer and, shockingly, Minhyuk nodded his head slowly, as if contemplating the decision, before beginning his trek once more.

Sanha's pants were weighed down, and he hoisted them back up to his waist, clearing his throat and hoping that Minhyuk didn't notice.

“So,” Sanha started again, and, once more, Minhyuk cut him off.

“You might be my favorite dishwasher out of the ones we've hired before,” he mentioned politely. Sanha nearly slipped, caught off guard with the sudden compliment, but he was absolutely _determined_ not to make a fool of himself again, so instead he stumbled forward a little bit, then squeaked out, “ _Really?_ ”

Minhyuk nodded fervently.

Sanha blinked. “But...but you never really talk to me.”

“Oh.”

Sanha had no clue what the _oh_ meant, but he wouldn't ask. He had already disgraced himself enough in one night, and he refused to continue his charade of acting like an ignorant toddler.

Fortunately for him, Minhyuk expanded on his original thought. “I'll talk to you more, if you'd like. I mean, I definitely _would_ like to, if you wouldn't mind. I know I act like Bin is my only friend in there, but I'm also a little close to Myungjun, and, um...” Minhyuk paused in his speech, face screwed up in concentration, then he mumbled, “I don't think I have many friends.”

“And you want to be _my_ friend?” Sanha gasped out. He realized his words could possibly be taken as an insult, and he scrambled to redeem himself, saying, “I just – I mean, Dongmin always teases me and tells me no one would _willingly_ be my friend, especially not an attractive chef like y- like _Bin!_ Like Bin! Oh, god, I just...I mean, _you_ want to be friends with _me,_ right?”

He didn't dare look at Minhyuk again. He focused instead on turned his face away to hide his reddened cheeks.

Minhyuk's voice sounded amused. “Oh, you think _Bin_ is the attractive chef?”

“I didn't say that!”

“You did, though. You said I was attractive – sorry, you said _Bin_ was attractive.”

Sanha groaned and ran his fingers through damp hair. “We can't be friends if you're just going to make fun of me! It was all a slip of the tongue. We should just forget it!”

Minhyuk scoffed, seemingly growing more confident in himself and in his conversation tactics. “I don't think I would ever forget someone calling me attractive.'

“I _didn't_ call you attractive. You misheard me! This rain is loud, is all it was!”

Sanha didn't know why he felt the need to deny it all so vehemently. He knew that Minhyuk probably wouldn't care, considering he was always so calm, and yet he didn't want his crush _knowing_ that he was always part of Sanha's mind.

Minhyuk said nothing for a second before they reached a fork in the road. “That's where I live,” he suddenly mentioned, pointing down the road opposite of Sanha's. “So we'll part ways, right?”

Sanha nodded. “Right.” He could shower and possibly drown in a bed of embarrassment.

When he dared peek at the head chef, though, just a quick glance, he noticed a smile on Minhyuk's face.

It was odd, so unusual to see, but not out of place. It _belonged_ there, brightening his gaze and creating small dimples in his cheeks, and Sanha stared longer than necessary, perhaps, enthralled by the enchanting sight.

Minhyuk noticed, if the blush on his own cheeks was anything to go by.

It was that smile that gave Sanha determination and drive, and he said, “Chef Minhyuk?”

He hardly used Minhyuk's actual name, and so he didn't blame Minhyuk for seeming surprised. “Hm?”

“You, um...are definitely the most attractive person I've ever seen.”

He rushed off before he could get a proper reaction from Minhyuk, bypassing all the puddles this time and giggling into the white noise the rain provided.

 

***************************

 

The following days at work were rather different after that. Minhyuk would come in as normal and greet everyone, especially Bin, but when the cooks had all turned away, he would share a smile with Sanha; a small, brief, secretive grin, and Sanha would feel warm for the rest of his shift, throughout the difficulties of dinner and lunch service.

He was doing well with his job, too. He was always coming early to prep, always staying late to clean, and he ensured that nothing was ever dirty while he was working. Bin constantly praised him, and the wait staff seemed to appreciate an extra set of hands and another employee that didn't complain or fuss over all the chores that were needed to be done.

Of course, all of his hard work didn't change the fact that he was still clumsy. He had slipped a few times, barely managing to save expensive plates that he held in his hands, and more than once he had accidentally knocked into someone in a rush to clean certain spills out on the floor. There was never any harm caused by his clumsiness, and he one night told Dongmin how _proud_ of himself he was.

“Don't jinx it,” Dongmin warned. “What if tomorrow you _really_ ruin something?”

“Way to encourage me, Dongmin,” Sanha complained. “I won't ruin anything. Wanna bet?”

Obviously Dongmin didn't, and so Sanha was satisfied enough with their phone call.

And then, the very next day, he managed to knock over an entire tray that Myungjun was picking up from the kitchen.

The plates cracked on the ground and all the food became a mixture on the dirty kitchen floor, strewed about near Sanha's feet.

Any of the cooks in the kitchen glanced over to see what the commotion was, and Sanha desperately tried to fix something, tried to find _something_ salvageable.

“I-I'm _so_ sorry!” he apologized, frantic as he picked through the broken shards of tableware. “I'll clean this up right away!”

“Are you serious?” one of the cooks snapped, and Sanha winced at his harsh tone. “We'll have to redo the entire order! Do you know how _long_ it takes to cook this damn steak, Sanha? Jesus _christ_ , their meal already took half an hour to prepare, and we're at a dinner rush right now, too!” The cook glanced at Myungjun, who was helping Sanha clean up some of the mess. “Did they at least get appetizers?”

Myungjun looked sheepish. “They didn't order any,” he admitted. “They assumed they would get filled up from the main course, so-”

The cook cursed loudly, and slammed his fist onto Sanha's sink, causing Sanha to jump up and bow down deeply to him.

“I didn't mean to! I'm so sorry!” he apologized again.

“It doesn't matter if you _didn't mean to!_ Why don't you watch your damn step? Couldn't you see Myungjun carrying the dishes?”

Myungjun gave Sanha's hair a small ruffle. “He obviously didn't mean it,” Myungjun said. “He apologized. What more do you want from him?”

“How about he stops being a panicked asshole? He needs to learn how things are _done_ here if he ever wants to get somewhere in life! Until then, he'll just continue being a stupid dishwasher, some kid stuck in a talentless job because that's all he's-”

“Hey!”

That voice again; intriguing, mysterious, and so familiar.

Sanha glanced over, trying to blink past the tears welling up in his eyes, to catch sight of Minhyuk, a stern expression on his face and piercing eyes surveying the damage.

Sanha felt his stomach drop. Now he would have to explain himself to _Minhyuk_ , of all people. Now _Minhyuk_ would see what a clumsy idiot he was. Gone would be the smiles and knowing glances. He ruined _everything_ he had with Minhyuk, the blossoming friendship that had formed amongst the two of them, all because he really couldn't watch where he was going.

“Ch-Chef,” Sanha stammered out, wringing his hands in front of him. “I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to-”

Minhyuk waved him off; it felt like a dismissal, like something bad, until Minhyuk turned to face the other cook, his stance defensive and his gaze threatening.

“Why the hell were you bullying Sanha?” Minhyuk asked.

All of the other cooks seemed speechless.

(Myungjun just looked defiant and pleased, and he continued smoothing out Sanha's frizzy hair.)

The cook blinked once, then responded, “He...should've been watching where he was going. He, um-”

“He apologized, though. There was no need to insult him like that when he said he was sorry. He said he would clean this up.”

“But that doesn't change the fact he wasted all of our time cooking it-”

“And _you're_ wasting all of the time to _re_ -cook it by complaining to him,” Minhyuk pointed out. “Sanha made a mistake and has promised to fix what he can – you're saying that he wasted your time, but _you're_ wasting _everyone's_ time by acting as if he can go _back_ in time and _not_ run into Myungjun. Besides, maybe it wasn't Sanha's fault. Isn't Myungjun clumsy, too?”

“Hey!” Myungjun exclaimed, and Sanha quickly broke in.

“N-No, it wasn't – it was my fault, C-Chef, and I'm so sorry.” Sanha wiped at his eyes in frustration, feeling so _weak_ by tearing up in front of all the cooks and a few of the wait staff. “I really didn't mean to, honest! I-”

Bin broke in this time, smacking Sanha's shoulder with a grin. “Cheer up, kid!” he said. “Byungho is just a whiny ass who doesn't like to cook.”

The chef opened his mouth, presumably to retort Bin's insult, but Minhyuk sighed loudly. “Byungho, start up another meal for them. We'll just comp it for their wait. Bin, get a quick appetizer for the table. Myungjun, go apologize and ask if they wouldn't mind waiting a bit longer, as long as their meal is comped and we supply them with free alcohol.”

Myungjun saluted and then nudged Sanha's side. “No one ever says no to free alcohol,” he teased before hurrying off.

Sanha instantly bent down to clean up the mess, but Minhyuk grabbed him. “Sanha, go take a break,” he said gently as the kitchen staff resumed their tasks. “You've been running around nonstop.”

“So have all of you!” Sanha replied. “I'd feel guilty-”

“Ten minutes.” Minhyuk moved him away from the broken dishes, giving him that secret smile reserved for only the two of them. “I'll get you in ten minutes. If you really feel guilty, make it up to me by staying after and helping me with a dish I'm working on, okay?”

It wasn't a date, Sanha told himself as he entered the break room, his heart hammering against his ribs. It wasn't a date _at all_ , but, at the same time, as Sanha dried his tears and tried to wash his face, he realized that spending some time alone with Minhyuk, even in a not-date setting, was probably the best possible punishment for messing up at work.

 

***************************

 

The restaurant was a little eerie when the dining hall lights were off and everyone was gone, save for Minhyuk and Sanha himself. Every sound seemed amplified, all the creaks and moans of a regular wooden structure, and with Minhyuk's silence and Sanha's reluctance to speak after his mess-up earlier in the day, it made for a scary, quiet scene.

Sanha sat in the kitchen, done with his clean-up and his preparation for the next day, and watched Minhyuk cook.

He hadn't gotten much of a chance to _really_ watch Minhyuk. It was usually some quick glances here and there, in between dishes to clean and things to help pick up, and he was almost always partially hidden by all of the other cooks, or just running around, as well, and difficult to keep track of.

But now, in the complete silence, with the creepy noises of the restaurant settling, Sanha was able to _watch_ him.

Minhyuk moved so fluidly, like a dancer up on stage. Every single stir, every single cut, seemed _valuable_ , as if part of some sort of complicated routine. He made hardly any sound as he grabbed various ingredients, smelling and tasting and nodding his head. He would write down ideas in a small journal beside him, and he would purse his lips slightly in concentration as he measured out oils and juices.

Sanha was the opposite. He was jittery and unable to focus and _certainly_ found it impossible to keep dead silent.

“Are there ghosts?”

Minhyuk stopped chopping up some vegetables and he looked at Sanha in confusion. “What?”

“Ghosts,” Sanha repeated. He was seated the wrong way on the chair, using the backing as his own personal armrest, his head resting in his elbows. “It sounds like there might be ghosts living here.”

Minhyuk listened, then nodded his head. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Sanha exclaimed. “You're _supposed_ to say that it's just the place settling, or, or maybe animals on the roof.”

Minhyuk smirked and went back to his preparation. “Would it make you _not_ scared if I blamed it on stray cats?”

“Yeah! I wouldn't be scared at all if I knew there were cats making noises.”

“Oh, so you would be scared if it's ghosts?”

Sanha nodded. “Terrified,” he confirmed.

Minhyuk shrugged his shoulders. “Ghosts, then.”

“Oh, come on!” Sanha cried out, and Minhyuk laughed. He had a loud laugh, similar to Myungjun's, but somehow deep, similar to Dongmin's. It was intriguing, mysterious, and _familiar,_ despite Sanha never really having heard Minhyuk's laughter before. He grinned and watched every single move that Minhyuk made. “You...you have such a nice laugh,” he mumbled.

He didn't know if he said the wrong thing, because then Minhyuk stopped laughing. He cleared his throat instead and turned back to his food, working on it in relative silence.

Sanha didn't mean to make it awkward, and after a minute, he opened his mouth to say as much, but was cut off by Minhyuk gesturing him over. “I need you to stir this for me, Sanha.”

“What?” Sanha stood and shuffled forward, though he stared at the pot of food as if it was an alien from outer space. And, really, for all he knew, it _could_ be. He had no idea what was bubbling up inside of there, and he wasn't in the mood to question it. “How...?”

“How what?”

“How do I stir it?”

Minhyuk smiled again, and he chuckled this time. “You take the spoon,” he said, and as he spoke, he demonstrated on a very stiff Sanha. He grabbed the younger boy's hand, gentle fingers caressing the skin for a second before moving it forward and letting it grasp onto the ladle. “And you stir,” he finished in a whisper.

Sanha nodded quickly, feeling his face burn up, and he noticed Minhyuk giggle before pulling back.

“I need a taste tester, too,” Minhyuk suddenly said, his voice light once more, acting as if he _hadn't_ just acted affectionate to an unsuspecting Sanha. “You seem like you like food.”

“Wha-What's that supposed to mean?” Sanha asked. He tried to sound offended, but he _knew_ he just sounded fond, instead. His voice was warm and he couldn't help but smile, creating a more doting tone.

“You eat a lot sometimes.”

“I don't eat any more than _Myungjun_ eats. And I _really_ don't eat any more than _Bin_ eats!” Sanha responded with a huff.

“I never said Myungjun _doesn't_ eat a lot. And, honestly, I don't think anyone could ever eat more than Bin. He's a vacuum.” Minhyuk reached down to grab a few utensils, and when he straightened up again, he held over a clean spoon. “Here. Taste.”

Sanha didn't quite understand, despite the instructions being rather straightforward. “Again, I really don't know what this is supposed to mean.”

“Yoon Sanha, you're something of an idiot.”

Sanha wanted to protest those words and that insult, but just as soon as he tried to, Minhyuk scooped up some of the soup and then stuffed it into Sanha's mouth.

The boy was shocked, eyes blinking wildly for a second before he realized he should probably chew, so as to not seem weird. He did so, savoring the rich flavors he found. Minhyuk really was a fantastic chef, able to easily make any sort of dish out of such basic ingredients.

He was also unafraid of reaching over suddenly and wiping at Sanha's lips with his thumb, murmuring, “You can't be so messy when you eat.”

His thumb lingered for a second, then trailed down Sanha's chin before he quickly removed it and offered another small smile. “How's the soup?”

Sanha swallowed, wondering if he might choke, wondering if he might not be able to _breathe_. “Wo-Wonderful!” he squeaked out. “A-A-A masterpiece!”

“A masterpiece?” Minhyuk repeated, stepping back and regarding Sanha with interest. “I know something else that's a masterpiece. I see it everyday.”

Sanha agreed, and he said as much. “When you look in a mirror, right?”

The words caught Minhyuk unawares, and he looked surprised before giggling brightly into his hands and shaking his head. “Y-You really _are_ an idiot!” he exclaimed. “Oh my god, Sanha, I'm trying to _flirt_ with you!”

Sanha knew that. He knew it, down in his heart, and up in his mind, but he still couldn't believe that Minhyuk was flirting with _him_. He felt himself release his breath all in one go, and he asked, a little loudly, “Do you like me, Ch-Chef Minhyuk?”

Minhyuk wasted no time in nodding his head, displaying none of the usual shyness he had before.

“I like you, Chef Minhyuk!”

“You can knock off the _chef_ portion,” Minhyuk teased, and he went back to his dish, smiling with his dimples again. “Because if we're going to date each other, we might as well do it right.”

“You haven't even asked me out,” Sanha retorted, and he returned to his chair, plopping down with a slight huff. “And what makes you think I'm going to say yes?”

Minhyuk laughed. “You called me a masterpiece,” he responded, “and you said you liked me. So why _wouldn't_ you say yes?”

Sanha acted as if his heart wasn't about to explode in a million pieces of pure love. “Oh, I don't know. Maybe because workplace romances are a _huge_ no-no. Maybe because you're too short. Maybe because I want to be the one to ask _you_ out on a date.”

“First off, this isn't some corporation. It's a small restaurant, and we'll definitely be allowed to date. Secondly, screw you, Sanha, you're just tall. And _thirdly_ , why don't you ask me out, then, hot-shot?”

“Not now!” Sanha scolded, ignoring the first two points (because Minhyuk was right). “Later. At the opportune moment.”

“Oh? And when is that?”

Sanha smiled to himself, hiding his face in his elbows again and murmuring, “When I decide to hang up a dorky Picasso next to a masterpiece painted by Da Benchi.”

(He thought his phrase was flowery and beautiful, but it just left Minhyuk crying from so much laughter, and trying to explain, in between his chortling, that it was Da _Vinchi_. Sanha decided that art wasn't his forte.)

 

***************************

 

Sanha decided to ask Minhyuk out on a date on the next dinner service they had. He made sure he was loud, too, and he made sure most of the wait staff were nearby to hear it.

“Park Minhyuk!” he shouted, causing the cooks to gasp in his general direction.

Minhyuk glanced up from his dish, anticipating what was coming next. “Yes, Yoon Sanha?”

Sanha placed the silverware in the dishwasher before turning around and, with hands still in his rubber gloves, made sudsy little finger hearts for Minhyuk. “Date me!” he shouted; an order, not as much of a request.

Minhyuk grinned, shocking the cooks even further, and nodded his head. “I'd like that!”

 

***************************

 

(Sanha's favorite dates were the ones were Minhyuk cooked for him. He liked hanging out in the kitchen of Minhyuk's apartment, helping out whenever possible, sharing kisses in between taste tests, holding hands if the tasks were simple.

“Sometimes I think you just dated me for my cooking skills,” Minhyuk would tease, watching Sanha scarf down his meal.

“What can I say?” Sanha giggled and raised a wine glass up towards Minhyuk. “I'm very fond of good food.”

He was even more fond of Minhyuk.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> go go go follow [@softsocky](http://www.softsocky.tumblr.com) bc her fics make me emotional. also she sends me daily pics of rocky.
> 
> anD FOR MORE MJ, u can find this mj girl [@vonseal](http://www.vonseal.tumblr.com). see me.
> 
> work has been translated into russian [HERE](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7194104)!


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